multiversallogs | wait a minute little back porch lady

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wait a minute little back porch lady

Who: Megan and yooouuuuu
What: Still spiraling into a pit of self-destructiveness, but with less horrible traumatized feels, Megan could use some distractions.
Where: Specifically mentioned are Griss Twist and Howl Barrow, but anywhere is fine.
When: Ruudary 27-29th
Notes: If you need a specific prompt and don't have ideas PUNCH ME OVER PM we can plot things...
Warnings: Drinking, drug use, will add as needed.

Megan's drinking a lot more than she usually does, but from the outside, to people who don't know, it looks like she's just partying harder than normal. Then again, who's to say that's normal -- she hasn't actually been here that long, maybe she was just settling in before now. Who knows. People do notice that she seems a little off-balance, but Megan has always struck most people as being one of those girls -- high drama. When she's up, she's up, and when she's down...

She goes back to work, though, finally, and gets reamed out for not calling out when she was "sick," but she's not fired, it's not that huge a deal -- they found someone to take her slots for her stage shows and her absence on the floor was noted, but her regulars are happy to see her back. It's much easier to plaster her smile on at work, and to be fair, she really does have a good time, usually. She likes her coworkers and she's acquired a number of regulars who are actually really nice to her, even if a few of them are obnoxiously fetishy about her. Well, that can't be avoided. Megan's stage shows -- intricate, flying pole dance, burlesque routines ending in dusting her audience -- are interspersed with periods of her out on the floor, hustling for private dances, just like Camelot back home -- but better, because people here have money. The Vault is not actually a strip club, which works to her advantage because she can make her private shows whatever she wants them to be; there aren't really a lot of rules.

When she's not at work, she's at clubs or bars -- the former more often because she likes to dance, but sometimes she goes to bars to get drunk and flirt with boys in a less noisy atmosphere. She especially likes anywhere that offers karaoke -- she doesn't like to sing but she does like to goad boys into doing so, plying them with beers and vague promises or else facetiously threatening bodily harm, and then laughing as they stumble through the lyrics of unfamiliar songs, embarrassed, but that's the real point of karaoke -- getting drunk and making a fool of yourself. If everyone's laughing at everyone else, she doesn't have to feel like they're laughing at her.

Although she stays close to home -- in Howl Barrow she can be found at local stores, cafes sometimes, always standing out with her wings and hair -- she does venture out to the rest of the city. She does not feel safe here, but she didn't feel safe in New York, either, and it's still true that she doesn't risk being assaulted every time she goes anywhere in Baedal. Just if she gets on the wrong side of the police, which she is, despite her lifestyle, doing her damnedest not to.

She has never felt so alone amongst so many other people.

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"Yeah...I think you mentioned the porting when you let me out of that room." Jay leaned over to look and, after a moment, pointed, saying the name of the train she was waiting for. "That train'll be stopping over there in about ten minutes."

At least, if he understood her rapidly scrawled directions, that should put her on the correct train. "Where are you going?"

Megan should do more teleporting, especially since it's cold as hell and she apparently has an aversion to proper pants, but walking gives her more time to think. Not that this is necessarily a good thing, but usually it's quite calming and the opportunity to build herself up before going (or after coming home from) work is helpful. So she's doing a lot of walking, lately -- walking alone. (She was totally not crying, she is way super in control of herself, and anyway if she was it's not like anyone could prove it; her eyes are so dark, there's none of that telltale redness.)

When someone says her name she starts but it's a mild reaction; she's used to being recognised, especially from people she doesn't know. Or doesn't remember knowing, either one. She pauses mid-step, which looks extra precarious given that she's in six-inch heels, and half-turns. She doesn't recognise the man and her first thought is he's probably someone she met at work and if so, she's in a shitload of trouble if she can't remember his name. Guys tend to get annoyed when they figure out they're not actually as special as you lead them on to believe. She decides to play it casual but friendly, something she's good at; it fits on her like a second skin. "Yeah, hi!" she says with one of her broad, toothy smiles. "What's up?"

On second thought, she's pretty sure he's not from the Vault. Huh.

"Uh huh. I go hard or go home." Shut up, Megan, that was totally a chocolatini you were having earlier. Though to be strictly fair, it's not like she considers a -tini anything to actually count as alcoholic. "That'd be why I've not seen you, then! I don't think I've even met half the people there, it's so huge." She half-turns towards her and the empty stool next to her, a clear invitation that Irene is welcome to sit if she'd like.

"Uh huh! Just since, um..." She squints and looks upwards, sticking her tongue out in concentration as she counts backwards. "Eliaderen, I think it's called? November. Whatever, I'm like, total shit at dates anyway and like, it was May where I was from before here, so... that's not a mindfuck or anything, thanks, Baedal." She smiles one of her vague, toothy grins.

Once she's got her cigarette lit she doesn't actually smoke much of it so much as use it as a prop, like it's more something to occupy her hands and mouth when she's not drinking. "Well, but that's the point of it, really! Everyone who's shit at singing gets to get up there and make themselves look stupid, and it's funny because everyone else looks stupid, too." She glances stagewards, where her abandoned date is trying to impress some other girl, and huffs. "Well, that's how it's supposed to go, like. Some people think the drunker they are, the cooler they get."

"One time I saw two guys get in a knife fight over a cocktail waitress," she says, thoughtfully. "Which, like, okay, except she didn't want either of them so it just made them look like big jerks. And also that's like, a little hardcore, you know? They're supposed to just punch each other and then maybe barf on each other a bit."

... thanks, Megan.

"I've been around," she says, which is vague enough that while it's not entirely truthful, neither is it a lie. "Hungover, mostly." That, however, is 100% true.

She considers ducking out now since she put in an appearance, but... no, that'd be rude. Anyway, she likes Kiden and is pretty sure she's not going to ask a bunch of awkward questions, so instead she sits down with her coffee and takes a sip of it, peering down at what she's writing. "Whatcha doin'?"

That mention jogs her memory -- she's not usually the first to get to new arrivals, it's not often that she opens the door for them. "Oh, right! It's Jay, yeah?" She thinks he might have been at her party, too, but by that point she'd been drinking a lot and then went off -- well, at that point everything pretty much went to hell.

Instead of thinking about that, she frowns accusingly at the paper. "Well, I'm s'posed in Kinken in an hour."

"It's more fun to watch if they haven't got weapons." ...based on what, Ilde? (On the other hand, does anyone really want to know what she gets out of watching other people beat each other?) "My boyfriend -- I hate that word - is in the midst of all that," with a vague, smoky gesture back towards the club they spilled out of, "but it was beginning to feel a bit too claustrophobic in there for me."

This is an easier conversation to have than 'so, Hilmi!'; they're not really close enough for that conversation, Ilde figures, and it feels awkward how much she's already been privy to by circumstance. If she were better at this, she'd try to bring that up, somehow, but-- she's not, so they can have a smoke and talk about men punching each other. That works.

"Yah, that way someone's less likely to die." A pause, then a caveat: "Less likely, that doesn't, you know. Stop 'em. When they're, like, mutants, or whatever. I knew guys who could punch holes in concrete. You don't wanna get in a fistfight with them." She pauses to smoke her cigarette the French way, which is totally unnecessary, she just likes doing it. "Who ticked him off?"

Considering how Megan would rather do anything in the world than talk about Hilmi now or ever again, that suits her.

After a beat, Ilde gives a quick tilt of her head and that slightly self-mocking eyeroll that goes with it, acknowledging her own occasional propensity for stirring just to watch what happens-- "I don't have a stress-ball, and he's not difficult to convince to do something stupid," by way of slightly self-conscious explanation. She isn't quite sheepish about it; it's not as though she thinks it was a bad idea, really, it just didn't work quite as well as she'd hoped.

Anyway, no one's died.

"Yeah, that's me." He didn't blame her for not remembering him right away. He'd remembered her more clearly because...well, she did have a rather distinct appearance, and being let out of that room was probably a bigger deal for him than letting him out was for her. "And don't worry. You'll get there in time."

After all, the trains were fast. Maybe not fast compared to some of the trains back home, but certainly faster than a lot of transportation that could be found in Baedal, though he supposed they wouldn't seem that way to someone who was used to teleporting around.

Exhaling smoke in an enormous cloud, Megan rolls her shoulders in a little shrug and runs her cigaretteless fingers through her hair. "Well, what are boys for if not to do what you tell them to." That's... no, that's not alarming, that's basically how every other woman in Baedal thinks. This is a large part of why Megan likes it so much. (Or liked, until confronted with those reminders about the cracks in the system.)

Ilde is one of those women, or more accurately striving to be while apprenticed to their amazon queen; ain't nobody in Baedal misandrist like Sonja, and she is an excellent influence on a malleable faery who could stand to have a spine. (That there are probably healthier ways of going about this is irrelevant.)

"That's rather what I thought." ...case in point, however incongruously prissily given where they're standing and what they're discussing. "Otherwise, what's the point of them--?"

"Cheaper than vibrators."

Well, she's got a point.

When she laughs, it's a give-away that her appearance isn't always - that inhuman sound, like water burbling, strange and sometimes off-putting - but there's no self-consciousness about it, not really.

"You can get all sort of attachments for those, here, though-- Ivan doesn't have as many settings." She flicks ash away as she speaks, holding onto one elbow with her free hand and smiling, sharp-toothed. "Still."

Although he finds her phrasing a little unfamiliar, Shrieky finds himself following her train of thought quite easily. He takes a little swig of the appletini as she talks about her own, recent arrival, "How did you find it? Settling in, I mean?"

Lighting the cigarette draws Shrieky's attention somewhat away from Megan herself, because... well, because it's fascinating. He'd seen Fish smoking one as well but that had been on camera, and it wasn't the same. Stealing a glance back to Megan, he managed to confirm the theory he'd come up with regarding cigarettes earlier. They definitely made anyone who was holding one look more distinguished and impressive.

"Who says that I'm 'shit' at singing?" He replies, his tone faintly teasing, even as he falters over the expletive, "I may be an extremely gifted vocalist, for all you know! Unfortunately, what I am absolutely certain to be 'shit' at, is... standing up in front of many people and proving it."

He sure isn't; Erik has never been to the Vault. (Yet.) (Look, we all know the power of Hasibe's tractor beam, let's not even pretend.)

"Just out for a walk," he says, and it is a genuinely relaxed answer—none of that try-hard nonchalance that some people insist on attempting. This pause here may counteract it, though, as he doesn't bother to hide the down-up flick of his eyes. "I recognized you from the network. Your hair." The indicative hand gesture is not strictly necessary, no. She knows where her hair is. He's a bit of a hand-talker, is all. "You tried to invite me to a party, if I recall correctly."

"Oh, yeah, right -- you're the..." Wait for it. "...guy." Aw, she censored herself.

(It's okay, the worst she was going to say is 'grumpy'.)

Well, that means she doesn't have to worry too much about her behaviour -- which she does, normally, yes, she definitely acts differently around people she wants something from as opposed to everything else. "Erik? Right?" John mentioned his name, at one point, but that she remembers is something just short of miraculous.

"Well, you could always tie him to a cement mixer." What. No. Stop this. "And this is doing great things for my fake reputation as a black widow, I guess."

Megan is a muffin, the idea of her actually hurting any guys is completely out of the question, although cultivating that air -- even jokingly -- is kind of a useful defense mechanism in Baedal, where dangerous women aren't considered cute.

"It's --" She has to take a moment to regroup, keep that smile ironed onto her face -- strap a bit of steel into her tone. "It's great, yeah, it's like, so totally different from things at home, y'know?" Baedal has actually been pretty horrifying -- in some ways it's safer, but she knows better. She saw that broadcast, and she sees what they do to xenians here -- they're just better at keeping it under the radar and everyone acts like everything's okay.

Megan is really not good at living with that kind of subtle paranoia, though. She'd rather it all be out in the open, over-the-top bigotry and all.

Leaning forward, she props her chin on the bar. "See, that's the thing. You haven't got to prove anything except that you've got the stones for it. Karaoke is serious business, see." No it is not, Megan, stop that.

He notices the slight pause in her tone, but doesn't feel any motivation to interrogate her on this point. Baedel does seem pretty great to him, and it is totally different from home. "What was your home like? Do you not miss it at all?"

It occurs to him even as he asks this, that he may subtly be trying to coax feelings of homesickness out of her, and he makes a mental note to try not to do that to people. It's not good behavior.

"Well, perhaps I didn't bring any stones with me today." He flashes her another little smile, before glancing up towards the current singer, "Anyway, I don't know any of these songs..."

"I always thought that sounded like a lot of effort to go to for killing somebody," Ilde says, reflectively; she's sweeter than much of the company she tends to keep, but thus far that hasn't stopped her from embracing the notion that she should be allowed to stab anyone who provokes her in the throat. It's a satisfyingly direct solution to many problems - largely why the idea of watching Ivan punch strangers struck her as logical stress relief.

"Although I suppose pretending to be interested in someone for the purposes of eventually murdering them is a bit more satisfying than for the purpose of not being told how much prettier you'd be if you only smiled," after a moment.

"A woman after my own heart." Irene pours herself onto the barstool, crossing her legs neatly and taking a sip- a large sip- of her drink before she orders for Megan. She's definitely fuzzy around the edges; it's been a while since she's gone out to get drunk, and she doesn't much like being intoxicated alone.

"It is enormous, isn't it? And marvellous. I've never worked in a club before- prefer things one on one, and I like to stay self-employed- but it is fun."

"Alkie," Kiden laughs, looking down at the stack of papers again. She's knocked on Megan's door once or twice with no answer and she figured Megan was just out doing her own thing, no big deal. Kiden's not the type to superglue herself to somebody else just for entertainment.

"Looking for a job," Kiden mutters. All she has for the employment history section is that dishwashing gig she held for a few months before shit hit the fan again, but if they hired her, then somebody in Baedal will. "I need money if I want to keep the booze and cigs coming.

She should start slowing down since she's going from tipsy to plastered pretty fast, but she has no intention of actually doing so because Megan is made of sugar and spice and bad ideas. "Really, never? What did you do before? I haven't ever really worked at any place like the Vault before, they don't really, like... exist where I'm from, you know? Like, maybe they exist, I just never went into any of them 'cause I only tricked people into thinking I'm classy anything here 'cause they don't know any better."

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wait a minute little back porch lady

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shhhh /clutches face

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